Her Favorite Game
by takemeanywhere
Summary: No one can defeat her at this game.


AN: Inspiration is an odd thing.

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Title: Her Favorite Game

She plays with life like it's a toy. She toys with her victims like they're children. They're the innocent little kids with the wide watery eyes while she's the big bad bully, towering over them. She tauntingly dangles their life in front of them while they scream, and when she gets bored, she carelessly tosses the life away.

Bellatrix LeStrange is her name. Torturing is her favorite game.

And she's, well, _she's the best_.

She plays to win, and everyone knows that she always _always __always_ wins. Even though the game is simple, the thrill is extraordinary and the prize is the best there will ever be, her master's love.

Most days, she plays the game. She lounges around in a cold room wearing her black robes and onyx stilettos which she thinks compliments her hair quite well. As she sips a very expensive glass of wine, the weak light flickers, creating dancing patches of shadows, and she waits. Her toy is dragged in, almost always quivering in fear. The ones who don't shake are the best to play with, but she'll make do with any. The servant takes away her wine, and so, she commences the game with a grin.

She doesn't do anything at first, just walks around them, smiling a wide, predatory smile showing sharp canine teeth. It's funny how they whimper. It doesn't matter if they're male or female, tall or short, big or small, there's always that light of fear shining in their eyes and the sound of terror rising in the back of their throats.

She gets bored of just listening to what lessens to an occasional whimper eventually. That's when she stops smiling, her eyes narrow, and her lips curl into a sneer. She always starts out with a magnificent twirl of the wand, because flair is always of the upmost importance, and the lovely word Crucio. When her toy fills the air with the musical sound of screams and cries, she starts smiling again. A malicious smile full of evil intent.

After the initial crucio, the game varies. If she's playing while wearing especially nice robes or a pair of her favorite heels, she'll just crucio her toy a bit. If she feels like smelling the sweet, sticky aroma of blood or doesn't really like the servant of the day, she'll draw some blood. Or a lot. It doesn't matter. After all, it's no trouble, since there's many different ways to draw blood. A knife or sectumsempra will work just fine. Either way, in the end, she wins.

And she loves winning.

But sometimes, sometimes she remembers a time when she was just Bella and she had a sister called Cissy and another called Andy. She remembers having tea parties and wearing pink (not black) and eating cookies and laughing high pitched squeals of laughter. She thinks they were, what was that word? Happy. Sometimes she thinks she remembers that there was a cat, and when it died, they all cried. It rained that day. But ultimately, whenever she remembers, she feels disgusted with herself for crying over such a dirty, useless thing.

It's days like these when she cuts the game short. It only takes two words, Avada Kedavra. Even though the game might not have been as fun as usual, the end result is still the same. She still wins. She always wins. She will always win.

Her master is proud of her winning streak, she can tell. Even if she's not feeling like playing that day, she always does, because everything is worth it for her master. She loves that look of what she thinks is pride gleaming behind his eyes. As she showers him with praise, she always loses herself in them, those eyes which could be rubies. Or perhaps they're spherical crystallizations of the blood she loves so much, the blood that stains both of their souls.

Everything, she tells herself, and anything is worth it for her master, for her master with those beautiful red eyes. And her master loves her when she wins the game. For him, she plays.

So she'll make them scream and she'll smile and she'll laugh, because this game is so much fun, this game that she will forever win.

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AN: Caroline, or anyone who plays the game, if you read this, you just LOST THE GAME.


End file.
